Medicine for Melancholy

By Britt Perkins

This movie is pretty. It starts slowly and awkwardly, but watching the muted shades transform the characters and San Francisco into a waking dream is quite enough to hold my attention.

This is the Netflix synopsis that I had to work with: “Waking from a one-night stand that neither remembers, Micah (Wyatt Cenac) and Joanne (Tracey Heggins) find themselves wandering the streets of San Francisco, sharing coffee and conversation and discovering that they share an unexpected deep connection. Barry Jenkins (nominated for a Best First Feature Independent Spirit Award) directs this poetic tale of love and sex that blends the elements of old-fashioned romance with the sensibilities of modern-day romance.”

The first weird thing is that Joanne seems really pissed off about the previous night’s encounter, yet she agrees to have coffee with Micah. Their conversation is strained and forced, which I think is a result of the acting just as much as the script. It takes a long time to get to the crux of the issue: Joanne has a boyfriend.

A loaded question foreshadows the “deep connection” that I believe the synopsis-er was referring to: “Is he white?”

The rest of the film turns into a vehicle for expressing Micah’s (read: Barry Jenkins’) frustration at the lack of black people in the “indie community.” “Besides TV on the Radio” of course.

Joanne is weirdly taken with Micah as demanded by the script, not the charm of his character. They end up spending the day together, eating, drinking, dancing, biking and fucking. The dichotomy that grows more and more pronounced is Micah’s attraction to Joanne versus his censure of the complacency with which she regards being black in a “white group.”

In his view, everything about this subculture is white. But I don’t see anything innately white about his fixed-gear bike, soundtrack, apartment or bars, except for the dancing. Those kids definitely had white moves. But to him, the black members of the community attach themselves to white members and thus are absorbed into this setting.

I don’t really understand this. I mean, I understand what he’s saying, but it seems like a pretty minor issue. He’s attracted to the music; he’s attracted to the style. The fact that it’s not as diverse as he would like relies heavily on the historical and social context of the past century, not a conscious decision-making process.

It’s not the “innate whiteness” that makes him want to be a part of the subculture. If you want to date someone of the same race, it seems to be more of a preferential issue. Not to reduce race and its meaning, but to this character, it seems about as important as blonde hair or brown eyes. He was perfectly content to date a white woman prior to having his heart broken. Is his desire to date a black woman some kind of “fuck you”? Does dating within your race guarantee happiness?

There is a lot of talk of class. There is a lot of talk of race. But what really makes this film works is the aesthetics. The tone was carefully selected by the filmmakers to reflect the mood of the piece. Thoughtful. Reflective. San Francisco envelopes the characters in a motherly warmth and strength.

The dialogue is stiff and petulant. The photography is wonderful. Somehow through this, it strikes a happy medium and becomes thought-provoking.

To view the the trailer, click.